


Every Other Day

by raisingmybanner



Series: get myself back home [5]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Brogane, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-09
Updated: 2020-01-09
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:00:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22188262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raisingmybanner/pseuds/raisingmybanner
Summary: "The first Wednesday in December is like every other day." Vignettes of Keith's life after Shiro is kidnapped.
Series: get myself back home [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/725445
Kudos: 9





	Every Other Day

The first Wednesday in December is like every other day. Keith wakes up sometime around 4am and stares at the ceiling, unable to go back to sleep. Willing his mind to think about Nothing At All rather than the only thing it wants to think about. He pretends to be asleep when his father checks on him before he leaves for work at 5:30. When he hears the door close, he turns on the radio to the only station that gets reception in his room. Something full of music he doesn’t like, but it doesn’t matter.

At 6:30 he turns off his alarm before it starts beeping and pulls on the next shirt in his drawer without looking at it, and the same pair of fading black jeans he’s worn for a week. He goes downstairs and pours a bowl of cereal and a glass of water. He used to drink orange juice, but that was before the fridge started getting emptier and emptier, and now he feels lucky if there’s milk for the cereal. He realizes dully that the cereal will be the next thing to go, but he doesn’t care that much. He only eats breakfast because it’s a routine now, not because he’s hungry.

He starts walking to school when he hears the door to his parents’ room open again, and the school day is a static blur of classes. Taking notes when he remembers, zoning out for entire class periods only to be startled back into consciousness by the sudden flurry of papers that marks the end of the period before the bell does. The few kids that he knew from middle school stopped attempting to befriend him when he stopped pretending to pay attention to them, so he drifts from class to class, mainly unnoticed. Some people whisper about him, some people shout names at him to see if he’ll react, but he doesn’t.

It’s been three months.

—

The first Friday in March is like every other day. Keith wakes up sometime around 4am and stares at the ceiling. He’s given up on trying to think about anything else, and his mind creates a new horror for him every day. He tells himself it’s pointless, but he can’t stop. He hears his father stand up off the couch and groan as he stretches before heading to the bathroom. He turns on the radio after his father leaves for work. The same station crackles in, with the same music he doesn’t like. But it doesn’t matter.

He turned the alarm off months ago because he was always awake. He waits until the last possible minute before he gets out of bed and opens the drawer to get a shirt. The drawer is empty and he slams it. Forgot to do laundry last night. Big surprise.

He yanks on a hoodie over the wrinkled shirt he slept in, and pulls on the jeans that are getting so thin he thinks a hole might just appear in them soon.

He doesn’t bother checking the cabinets because they’ve been empty for months. He leaves home in just enough time to get to first period. He hasn’t seen his mother in days, but he knows she’s still there because sometimes there’s a teacup by the sink when he gets home from school.

He slinks into the back of first period, and he can see the look on his teacher’s face when he walks in. He’s simultaneously proud of it, and hates it. The looks that says, “Why couldn’t he have just stayed home?” It’s the same look he gets from almost every teacher. He doesn’t know why his first period teacher feels that way, though. He can’t remember ever doing anything in her class. But word gets around, he supposes. Whatever.

The day blurs past, with kids avoiding him for the most part. His mind is full of the one thing he can’t escape, and it fills him up with nails and fire. Teachers stopped calling on him months ago. The only people that talk to him are the ones that feel like starting a fight, because he’s always game. One sneered comment, and Keith’s fist is already flying. Ten seconds of bloody euphoria in his mind, then someone is pulling them apart and it’s another phone call home to the unplugged answering machine. Another detention. Another suspension. Whatever the dean feels like that day.

It’s been six months.

—

The last Monday in April is like every other day. He sleeps until he wakes up, pulls a clean shirt out of the unfolded laundry in the basket, and yanks on his jeans that finally sprung a hole. At least now they match his shoes. Although he does have a decent pair of shoes in his closet from last year, he doesn’t care enough to find them.

He’s gotten used to the constant ache in his stomach from not quite enough food. This isn’t the first time he’s been in a house without much to eat. He drinks a glass of water and starts the dishwasher before he leaves for school. A glance at the clock says he’ll get there before 2nd period. Whatever. It’s testing anyway, and since he’s late, they’ll put him in the counselor’s office to do it on his own.

He fills in random bubbles on the scantrons for the state testing while the counselor looks on disapprovingly, because why give his teachers any credit for his knowledge when they’ve done nothing for him?

He knows it isn’t rational, but he left caring about that behind a long time ago.

He rejoins the school at lunch, and, surprise surprise, someone is ready to start a fight. Keith barely remembers what it felt like for that brief period when he wasn’t full of fire and nails. It almost feels like it didn’t even exist.

Another phone call home. His father picks up this time, and has to leave work to take him home. Keith looks out the window while his father lectures him all the way home, in a voice so tired it was almost shattered. 

Keith knows he should feel bad for what he’s putting them through, but he just doesn’t. They didn’t care enough to get their only son back. Why should he listen to them?

His parents get into another fight, and this time it’s about him. The doorbell rings while they’re all screaming at each other, and Keith answers it while his mother tries to keep his father from scaring the person at the door.

It’s a package, and it’s addressed to Keith. No return address.

It’s been eight months.


End file.
